


... Something

by antumbral



Category: Hockey RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Chicago Blackhawks, M/M, Marijuana, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 15:39:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/851218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antumbral/pseuds/antumbral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick Kane is a pothead. Jonathan Toews is his unfortunate roommate. Hilarity ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	... Something

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2008, when Toews and Kane actually were roommates, and Patrick Kane gave way too many interviews while looking like he was stoned out of his mind.

“What are you doing?”

Oh good, just what he didn’t need. That’s Jonny’s ‘I Am A Leader’ voice. Pat tilts his head back and emits a thin stream of smoke, watching it curiously as it curls up and breaks against the ceiling.

“You’re a smart boy, Tazer,” he says patiently. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

He can hear Jonny shift behind him, and would bet he’s standing in the doorway, fidgeting and making the constipated face like he does when something isn’t going his way. Pat really doesn’t like the constipated face, so he doesn’t look around. The wavy lines the smoke makes against the ceiling are more interesting than Jonny anyway.

“It looks like you’re smoking a joint, but I know you can’t be smoking a joint because we are at a hotel and _representing our team!_ ” Jonny hisses that last bit like he should be keeping it a secret from the world. Pat rolls his eyes.

“So if the world sees me, which they won’t because I’m in my room and you’re the only other person who has a key unless Sharpie stole one somehow, then they will know that America grows really shitty pot.” He regards the joint in his fingers philosophically. 

“I --.“ It seems he’s struck Jonny dumb. Good, Jonny needs a little more dumbfounding in his life. It will be healthy for him. Like Wheaties or something. 

“If there is a place in America that grows not-shitty pot, it is nowhere near Chicago. I’ve looked,” Pat informs the ceiling. Jonny makes an inarticulate growl from the direction of the doorway, and Pat laughs at him. Tazer is always funny when he tries to be intimidating. 

“Look, Kane.” Oh, so they’re on to last names now. Jonny only calls him Kane instead of Kaner or Pat or Fuckhead when he’s angry. Jonny manages to stand in front of where Pat’s laying back on the bed and looms. Jonny actually looks big when he tries to loom. It’s really not fair that he’s got those shoulders. Pat would kill for Jonny’s shoulders and height, but his dad says he’s still growing into himself, and he’ll get a little bigger before he stops. Pat hopes so, it would suck to always be the smallest guy in the dressing room. 

There are some advantages, though. “I bet it takes a long time to get you stoned,” Pat tells Tazer seriously. “I am efficiently sized.” Jonny usually likes it when Pat uses big words.

“What?” Jonny switches from his constipated face to his surprised face, which is not really an improvement.

“You’re bigger, so I bet it takes a long time to get you stoned,” Pat explains patiently. Sometimes Jonny is not as smart as he likes to think he is. “Also, you shouldn’t make that face. It looks like your eyeballs might fall out of your head, and then the team would be sad because their captain couldn’t see.” Jonny blinks at him twice, then scrunches his nose and attempts to rearrange his features into something more pleasing. He mostly succeeds, because when he gets done he looks pretty normal. Pat gives him a nod of approval.

“I wouldn't know. I’ve never been stoned,” Jonny tells him, and cocks his head to the side, which makes him look a little like a curious puppy. It’s cuter than it should be.

“Oh. Here.” He hands the joint over to Jonny, who holds it like it’s going to bite him. “Try everything once, right?”

Jonny is still staring at the joint when he sits down on the bed beside Pat. “I don’t think that’s a good philosophy,” he says idly. “There are some things I wouldn’t want to try even once. Like eating ants.”

Eating ants? Good grief. And Pat’s supposed to be the weird one. “You want to try this,” he tells Jonny serenely. “It will be good for you. Like Wheaties.” Jonny is making the stupid constipated serious face again, so Pat tells him so. “You’re making that face again.”

Another three seconds while Jonny struggles to make his eyebrows look normal, then he looks down at the joint again. Pat nudges his arm encouragingly, and when this doesn’t get results he pokes Jonny’s bicep until Jonny lifts the joint tentatively to his mouth and inhales the tiniest bit. 

Pat is almost proud of him, like watching a little brother grow up and become a man or something, but then Jonny starts to cough. Pat sits up and pounds him helpfully on the back. “That is disgusting,” says Jonny. His eyes are watering.

Pat steals the joint from between his fingers and inhales deeply, feeling the smoke fill his lungs like the burn of good whiskey. He tries for a smoke ring when he exhales, but he can never get them quite right, and this one ends up looking more like a lopsided pancake than a ring. He watches it float towards the ceiling. “It looks like a pancake,” he tells Jonny.

“Huh.” Jonny is watching the smoke. His features have fallen back into the constipated face. It’s like his default expression. Somehow it makes sense that Jonny would be serious even after pot. 

“Here.” Pat doesn’t give him a choice, and holds the joint back up to Jonny’s mouth, pushing it at his face until he can’t help but breathe in. He gets more smoke this time, a respectable lungful, and doubles over with the hacking. Pat feels bad for him, and pats him comfortingly on the head. 

“I don’t think I’m made for smoking,” Jonny tells him when he can sit up straight again, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. This is nonsense of course, but Jonny has always been a pansy.

“Tazer, man, no offense, but if anybody needs to relax, it’s you.” Jonny nods at this like Pat’s words are gospel, which they should be, because after a year of rooming together, Pat is wise in the ways of the Tazer. 

“You know, I got my first hit from Becky Shortsman,” says Pat, and looks over at Jonny speculatively. Jonny and Becky aren’t much alike. Becky had boobs, for one. She was also pretty and she laughed a lot and she wouldn’t know serious or thoughtful if they hit her in the face like a slapshot. She didn’t have funny eyebrows and hadn’t memorized a half-dozen ‘for the good of the team’ speeches so that she would be prepared to give one no matter what the occasion. She also smelled nice. Jonny tends to smell like hockey equipment. 

Still, Pat thinks that maybe this could be for the good of the team too. No one benefits when their good captain is too strung-up. 

“And I care because?” Jonny says, but he hasn’t been following Pat’s thoughts.

“This is for the good of the team,” Pat tells him, and tries to match Jonny’s serious face. He probably looks ridiculous, but then Jonny looks ridiculous when he does it too, so maybe it will still communicate his ultimate seriousitude. 

“What?” Jonny still hasn’t gotten with the program, but it doesn’t matter. Pat sits up and kind of kneels on the bed, straddling Jonny’s lap. This causes the surprised expression again, and really, they need to have a talk about Jonny’s facial control. 

“Good. Of. The team.” Pat repeats, and lifts the joint to his mouth to take a big breath. He holds it in his lungs, feels it claw there like a contented cat, then presses his mouth over Jonny’s.

Jonny makes a hilarious little shocked, “ _Mmph!_ ” noise, which Pat generously ignores. Apparently he still isn’t on the same page as Pat or Becky Shortsman, because instead of just opening his mouth and going with the flow, he kind of flails everywhere and tries to push Pat off. Jonny may be bigger than him, but Pat is a wiry little fucker and he has a significant advantage: he knows exactly how his body reacts when he’s stoned, and Jonny has just taken his first two hits ever. It makes a difference.

Eventually Jonny gives in to the need to breathe, and when he does he sucks the smoke right out of Pat’s lungs. It’s not really like kissing Becky Shortsman, but it’s not bad, even if Jonny has stubble and really should do something about that. Jonny should probably also learn to breathe through his nose when he’s kissing someone. Perhaps Pat should offer him kissing lessons and a shave, because if Jonny’s ever going to get laid, he’ll need to know these things. As a loyal roomie, Pat feels responsible for his Tazer’s well-being.

When Jonny’s gotten the full hit, Pat pulls back to about a foot away and watches his eyes get even bigger than normal. “Oh,” says Jonny, and flops back on the bed to stare up at the ceiling, which, okay, Pat understands that impulse. The smoke curls delicately out of Jonny’s mouth, and Pat touches a finger to his lower lip right where one of the streams comes out, so that it shifts around his fingernail too. There’s no coughing this time.

When all the smoke is gone and Jonny takes his next deep breath, he looks up at Pat and his pupils are blown out, which should make him look like a Chihuahua, but his lids sort of fall down to a position that Pat would call ‘lazy’, except he’s never seen a lazy look on Jonny, and he kind of doubts it’s possible. The universe would end if Jonny ever actually relaxed. 

“Want more?” Pat asks. Jonny nods and props himself up in a sort of half-sitting, half-reclining position, so that Pat has to lean way far forward to give him the next hit. Jonny brings a hand up to the middle of his chest to support him, and it still doesn’t feel anything like Becky Shortsman, but the hand is warm and solid and wide there, and Pat doesn’t really mind. This time, Jonny is much better about opening his mouth and doesn’t bother with the flopping-around-like-a-fish routine. Instead he’s just kind of warm and loose, and yeah, this is Jonny doing lazy, the way his tongue flickers out to lick the smoke from the very edge of Pat’s lip. If it wasn’t Jonny doing it, it might be sexy as all hell. But since it _is_ Jonny, his Tazer and his captain and his loyal and infuriating roomie, it’s… _something_. Pat doesn’t want to think too hard about it. 

Jonny seems to be down with the not-thinking-about-it. Pat sits up straight and watches him kind of wallow in the high, stretched out on the bed. It’s not really fair how much bigger Jonny is, the way his shoulders look like an actual part of his body even if they are ridiculously wide. Jonny is like the perfect all-American boy, except he’s from Canuckistan, but Pat sees this as only a minor personality flaw. In comparison, Pat’s shoulders look kind of like God got sick of making normal people, so he tacked a pair of ill-fitting giant shoulder pads onto Pat’s otherwise-skinny torso. Pat is busy contemplating whether God prefers hockey pads or football pads for ill-fitting shoulders when Jonny reaches up and fists a hand in his shirt. He pulls until Pat has to stretch out above him or risk ripping the shirt.

“More,” says Jonny, in his decisive ‘I Am A Leader’ captain’s voice. Pat grins at him and takes a draw on the joint, then nudges his mouth open and exhales softly. If Pat’s honest with himself, he likes the way Jonny nuzzles up into his mouth, more aggressive than anyone else he’s done this with, like Jonny’s trying to grab the last bits of breath out of his lungs. 

After a moment, Jonny cocks an eyebrow at him, as if to say _Again?_ , but Pat shakes his head. “Dude, it’s your first time. You’re already going to be stoned out of your mind.” Jonny glares at him, but it’s not very effective and Pat just laughs, so he’s caught off-guard when Jonny jerks him down again, leans up into his body, and _kisses_ him. It’s actually a kiss this time, no smoke for excuses, and Pat might have tried his own impression of a flopping fish for a minute there, but he won’t cop to it if anybody asks later. 

Jonny waits on him, is patient while Pat settles down and tries to move past the _holy fuck, kissing a dude_. It’s Jonny, who doesn’t exactly count as just any dude, and it’s a very stoned Jonny, who probably won’t remember any of this in the morning. So Pat gives himself permission for just this once, and kisses back. There’s still stubble -- no question, Tazer is getting a shaving kit for Christmas -- but he tastes like smoke and seriousness, and it’s somehow so familiar that Pat likes it almost by accident. It’s… something.

At last Jonny lays back and smiles up at him, this shy, pleased expression that has no right to be as adorable as it is. Pat reaches out and pats him on the head. “Go to sleep.” He’ll have forgotten all of this by morning. 

Jonny nods and closes his eyes obediently, still smiling. Pat stays on top of him, still straddling his hips, and just watches for a while, taking occasional drags at the joint. Tazer beneath him is infinitely more interesting than the ceiling. After about five minutes, Jonny opens his eyes again. 

“I’m not sleepy,” he says.

“Okay,” says Pat. “You wanna go see if Sharpie and Burrish want to go out for pizza?”

“ _Yes_ ,” says Jonny, like pizza is the best idea he’s heard in a long time. 

“I have to put my shoes on.” Pat goes over to his suitcase and pulls his socks out. Jonny watches him like he’s the most fascinating thing in the universe, and when Pat is finishing up tying his laces, Jonny heads for the door. As he goes by, he ruffles Pat’s hair like it’s an afterthought, then stops and turns around. When Pat stands up, Jonny pecks him lightly on the mouth, then pats him on the head and looks proud of himself.

“Pizza,” he says decisively, and strides out the door like he’s about to walk into a press conference. 

Pat shakes his head and grabs a jacket. He finds himself touching his lips where Jonny had kissed him this last time, and wonders what it means. It’s just Jonny, so it’s nothing to freak out about, even if he’s not sure about the proprietary way Jonny seems to like touching him. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t even mind the kissing thing, and he’s rapidly coming to terms with the thing where Jonny’s kind of not female at all. It’s not like anything he’s done before, but his thoughts always seem to come back to _it’s Jonny_ , like that’s all his brain needs to give him a free pass on any weirdness. 

“Kaner!” Jonny sticks his head back around the doorframe and barks his name, just like any of a thousand other times before Pat had shotgunned him his first taste of pot and Jonny had kissed back. 

“Yes captain, my captain,” Pat says, mock saluting, and follows him out the door into the cold.


End file.
